


Five first times

by CrazyChicken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyChicken/pseuds/CrazyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a thin line between having sex and making love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first first time

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】Five first times | BY：CrazyChicken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572012) by [kanonsaga9397](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanonsaga9397/pseuds/kanonsaga9397)



> Thanks to the amazing bluemadrista for her betareading.

“My parents aren’t home tonight.” It wasn’t a statement, it was a question. _Will you please stay with me tonight so we can do something my parents would never want to witness? ___

And when Marco answered, “How long?” he wasn’t asking a question, he was making a statement. _I got your hint and think you should prepare for a long beautiful night because I intend on making sweet love to you until you see stars behind your eyelids._

“Long enough,” Mario smiled, passing the remote controller over to his friend, and you’d say – or maybe hope – that it was just a friendly gesture, but no. By giving Marco control over his television, he was saying: _I give you control over my entire world tonight._

But then the pattern broke when Marco didn’t zap away to MTV – like Mario expected – but threw the controller on the side table instead. “Good,” he said, laying his head to rest on Mario’s soft strong muscled shoulder.

“They are going to the opera with friends,” Mario answered the question Marco didn’t ask. “I don’t really understand why they like operas so much. I do like musicals, because they have a nice variation of play and music and they’re often happy. But operas… they’re just too much, you know?”

“Mario?” Marco hummed as he traced the hem Mario’s shorts with his index finger.

“Hm?”

“Shut up.”

Mario laughed. He would have become angry at anyone else who tried to shut him up like that, but for some reason he had no problem with Marco doing so. Maybe it was because he had been his friend for so long or because he had been his boyfriend for almost as long. Maybe it was because his body looked so damn good, or maybe it was the thought that this damn good looking body would be _his_ tonight.

 

   
Just like that, the day became a countdown. Five o’clock, two more hours, Fabian would leave. Six o’clock, one more hour, Mario’s mother prepared dinner. Six-thirty, thirty more minutes, they ate without being hungry. Six-fifty, ten more minutes, Mario’s father got the car out as his mother checked her bag – again. Six-fifty-nine, they waved goodbye as Marco’s left hand settled on Mario’s hip. And then, finally, they were alone and the house was theirs, as was the evening.

Neither of them was sure where to start, so they stood in the hallway for a few awkward minutes, making out heavily, but not passionately. They were merely trying to kill the nerves. It was a forced kiss.

“We could go to your bedroom,” Marco finally said, and it was just a proposal. Mario was free to decline. He wasn’t saying: _Let’s go up so I can love you right._

“That’s a good idea,” Mario answered awkwardly.

Somehow, their feet started moving down the hall and up the stairs and into Mario’s bedroom. But taking a problem to another room doesn’t solve the issue.

“This is crazy,” Marco admitted after a few awkward moments and Mario agreed. After a few more silent seconds, Mario proposed alcohol and then Marco was the one to agree. Mario went downstairs and Marco spent full three minutes wondering if maybe he should have followed Mario.

 _God no._ When he came back with a bottle of wine and two empty glasses, Mario looked sexier than ever. He had opened the first two buttons of his shirt and mussed up his own hair. He was like a sex god on Earth.

It took Marco two seconds to remember how to move and Mario used that time to walk over to the desk in his room and put down the two empty glasses. When he was filling them with white wine, he felt two arms wrap around him. He jumped in surprise when Marco hugged him from behind, but then the latter nibbled at his earlobe and he calmed down again. He had that kind of influence; making things okay again by doing something really simple.

Mario struggled to get loose from his grip, turned around, and handed one glass over to Marco. “Cheers.”

They drank and Marco tried to keep his eyes on Mario, focusing on his friend instead of the terrible taste – he preferred beer. As they downed the last drops of liquid they looked away, only to lock their eyes again when they put the empty glasses back on the table. Mario’s glass fell over because he was too concentrated on his lover to look at what his hands were doing with the glass. Marco grabbed a fistful of fabric from Mario’s shirt, pulling him closer.

The moment was sharp – breathing and rough kissing, teeth clenching and hands everywhere; Marco’s fingers racing down the remaining buttons of Mario’s shirt, baring his tanned torso; Marco’s tight blue t-shirt hitting the floor and hot skin colliding with hot skin on the way to the bed; Mario landing on his back, rolling over and over, fighting for the top – and winning; His lips trailing down Marco’s neck, scraping his teeth along his jaw line, biting his collar bone, sucking a nipple and licking down his stomach, leaving bruises on his hip bone – and Marco couldn’t think straight. He only felt Mario’s hand near his crotch, making quick work of the button; only heard the sound of the zipper. Eyes closed – he heard Mario placing wet kisses on his belly and his own silent moans and far off a slamming car door and keys and then the female voice he expected to hear.

“Mario, Marco. We’re home again. Cecile was sick so we cancelled the appointment.”

Mario rested his head on Marco’s stomach as he sighed in frustration. “I can’t… _believe_ this.”

The blonde ran his fingers through Mario’s hair to comfort him. Marco’s face had started to feel warm with lust and his pants had gone tight, and for a moment he thought about begging Mario for relief. _Just hands, no sounds_ , he would promise. But he knew their first time had to be special; not necessarily because it was a first time, but because it was them; _they_ were special.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, trying to think of ice and mountains and witches and basically everything that wasn’t Mario or Mario-related. “We’ll have other opportunities.”

Mario crawled back up and they lay still for a few minutes, not saying a word, not making any moves except for caressing each other’s hands. When they got up again, Marco had the decency to redress Mario – zipper, button, shirt – before he put back on his own clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Mario said, his hand already on the doorknob.

“Don’t be,” Marco placed a kiss on his forehead – a part of his body he could easily reach – and squeezed his hand before they walked downstairs. It was slightly uncomfortable, but not unpleasant. It was nice. After this lousy attempt, they had a promise, something to look forward too.


	2. The second first time

Marco wasn’t sure where exactly it had gone wrong.

There had been something about the entire evening. Something about Lewis’ awesome parties and the glow of lanterns and the feeling of summer coming to an end and enjoying things as long as they lasted. Soon enough the new season would start and parties would be slightly different, because then the parties would be about celebrating victories, whereas these parties were simply about celebrating life. Nobody knew how serious Lewis was about leaving Germany, so everybody joked about it; yet everyone was afraid of it too. They were sitting in the backyard with some music from the shed. The neighbours hadn’t complained about the noise so far, or maybe they had tried to complain, but nobody had heard them because of the noise. Or maybe it was because Marco had told him to sit closer to the speakers, so that they wouldn’t hear the doorbell ring in case neighbours came to complain, so they didn’t have to feel guilty about not opening the door.

That was the party, with its weird atmosphere, and they knew it could be the last one. They were comfortable in the familiar seats, but there was something in the air, something they had all felt when leaving high school; the feeling of some important part of your life changing. It was one of Lewis’ rare all-guys parties. Maybe that was where it went wrong. Or maybe it was still the good old alcohol. Or the feeling that everything was coming to an end. Although it could have had something to do with André.

After a casual ‘how’s my Marco doing?’ he had taken his seat next to his old friend and laid his head in the crook of his neck. He didn’t listen to the response, but started talking instead. “You know, I haven’t been home much lately.” When Marco stayed silent, he continued (André didn’t even take the time to try and sound angry, as he had planned to, because he wasn’t angry, but rather sad): “That’s where you ask where I’ve been and I say ‘at Lewis’’ and you ask me what the hell I was doing with Lewis.”

He looked up at Marco for a second, but when he said nothing, he sighed and lay his head back on the blonde’s shoulder. “I help him sort out some things, you know, throwing out old things he doesn’t need anymore. I steal the DVD’s we have seen too many times, tidy his rooms and closets. I like to help because I’m too organised… no, that’s a lie. I just help him because he is a really close friend.” (Marco didn’t miss the way his voice broke when he said ‘friend’.) “I think he wants to have his stuff ready in case he needs to go. Isn’t that what we all like to do? Have our stuff ready in case we need to go, escape to some place that’s better, brighter, or maybe just sunnier? But you know, sometimes it’s best to stay in the rain.” He paused for a moment, letting his philosophical side sink. “But you know, we do a lot more than that,” André said, stressing the ‘lot’. “We play a lot of games.”

Marco expected him to continue, but he fell silent and when Marco looked down, André had the tiniest little hint of wetness in his eyes. He wasn’t obvious about it, for he had always been one to hide his true feelings under smiles and jokes, but he was sad.

“He’s a good friend,” André whispered after a long silence.

“Have you told him so recently?”

Instead of shaking his head, André shook his entire body.

“Maybe you should.” Maybe Marco wasn’t really in the right state to give advice to his friend, who was even more drunk, but to his own pleasant surprise he saw André’s eyes light up.

“Yes, I should. Yes, I should,” he repeated and then he jumped up. “Thank you, Marco!”

Marco mumbled a ‘you’re welcome’ that André didn’t hear anymore, as he was heading off to Lewis. Marco watched André tap his shoulder and start a casual talk when Lewis turned around. He observed the situation from afar while the casual conversation became a more serious and private one. Inch by inch they slowly moved from the pit of the party, isolating themselves from the rest of the world, becoming invisible in their own corner. He couldn’t for the love of god find out what they were talking about, and what happened when their moments of happy laughter changed into deep stares into each other’s eyes.

Maybe it was wrong, to stare at his friend like this, but Marco liked to watch them. Not because he was perverted, but because the relationship between Lewis and André was so beautiful, so special, so _unique_. They trusted each other with their lives, they didn’t need to talk to tell each other something, they were together even when they weren’t. They couldn’t really keep their hands off each other when they were close, anxious to let the other know how much they cared. It made him wish it reminded him of his own friendship with Mario.

He would have given a lot to hear what the two blondes were saying, but some gestures, some movements they made were obvious enough. Lewis holding André’s finger in the dark of the corner. It wasn’t very apparent, but if you looked closely, you could find their slightly entangled fingers, hidden behind their legs. When André rested his hand on Lewis’ hip it stayed there a bit longer than necessary. And when André leaned in and whispered something in Lewis ear, it took too long too… It wasn’t whispering, Marco realised. He was nibbling Lewis’ ear.

“What are you looking at?” Mario took him by surprise.

“Nothing, nothing,” Marco answered quickly, turning his head to smile at Mario, to show that everything was normal here. When he looked back to the dark his objects of observation had disappeared. “Have you seen our host?” Marco asked as he turned back to Mario.

“I just saw him slip inside the house with André.” Mario grinned.

“Why? What are they doing?” He regretted the question the moment it escaped his mouth, but there was no saving him now.

“Come on, Marco,” Mario said, tired of playing, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “You’ve been watching them for fifteen minutes. Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

In retrospect, that was probably where it went wrong.

 

A steady beat was pounding through his head and Marco didn’t like it at all. It had the familiar sound of death that was a hangover. _Mistake, mistake, mistake_ , it seemed to sing, but then Marco listened closely and over the noise of the headaches he discovered the rhythm was a heartbeat.

Pum-PUM.

Pum-PUM.

Pum-PUM.

Slow. Lazy. Asleep.

He had no idea of time, as he opened his eyes and closed them again immediately, the daylight being too bright and the truth probably too harsh. He cursed himself for not drawing the curtains last night, but his mouth was too dry to speak the actual words.

Slowly, inch by painful inch, he opened his eyes again.

It wasn’t completely as bad as he had feared. Of course, the curtains were open and he wasn’t wearing any clothes and god, the headaches were _killing_ him, but the rest seemed okay. He didn’t remember much from last night, but this was his own apartment and he was in bed and he could even feel the warm blankets covering his body. The only thing wrong in this setting was the fact there was another body sharing the blankets.

When he felt his own heartbeat racing up his throat, he realised the slow and steady one wasn’t his. His head rested on someone’s chest, that rose and fell with every breath, and Marco silently prayed that it wasn’t André. But of course, he already knew it wasn’t André.

He sat up straight and immediately regretted that decision, moaning as a stab of pain raced to his head.

As he tried to press his hands against the sides of his head and his closed eyelids and his forehead and the back of his neck all at once, the tanned body next to him started making soft noises. The noises of waking up, of stirring under blankets, of complaining against the morning. He knew the noises well enough, especially because they were Mario’s.

When he opened his eyes and the situation slowly sank in, the expression on his face was priceless. Or it could have been priceless, if Marco hadn’t been too busy trying to call back his memories – unsuccessfully. Mario covered his nipples – a strange habit, Marco thought – and asked with his raw morning voice: “What have we done?” in a tone that implied murder.

It frustrated Marco to be unable to answer, unable to glue back the pieces. He had a few separate memories, vague ones. He remembered a feeling of loneliness and the strong scent of smoke and the view on the skyline his bedroom window and the sound of faded laughter and the taste of sweat and the feeling of nails digging into his shoulder blades – but there was no memory in which all senses came together, no memory that covered the entire evening, no memory that could explain what had and what hadn’t happened the night before.

When Mario gently pushed his knee against Marco’s leg, the latter realised he was still waiting for an answer.

“ _Keine Ahnung_ ,” Marco admitted. He wanted to worry about being embarrassed about the situation, but he was occupied with other things. The pain in his head was getting worse again and he knew he should get up and get himself a glass of water and a bunch of painkillers and litres of coffee, but he couldn’t get himself to move. Instead, he let his body fall back and he moaned again when his head hit the pillow.

“Are you okay?” Mario asked with a hoarse voice that would have turned Marco on in any other situation.

“No,” Marco grunted angrily. He felt the blankets move and heard Mario going through some mess in the drawer of his bedside table, as he clenched his eyes shut. That was another sound, a familiar one, but Marco couldn’t focus enough to think about what it was.

“Here,” Mario pressed something against his closed lips, a round pill. It could have been anything, poison even, but Marco gladly opened his mouth and then he opened his eyes and leaned on his elbows to take a few sips from the glass of water Mario was holding out for him – at least he hoped it was water. It tasted like it had been standing there for days, but it felt like heaven as it soothed his painful throat.

He dozed off again and when he woke up he felt slightly better. He was ashamed of everything he could think of, though: being bitchy at Mario, having Mario take care of him, his naked body, the situation he had put them in.

“I’m so sorry,” Marco whispered, staring at the ceiling.

Mario didn’t say anything, but when he caressed the back of Marco’s hand with his thumb it was more comforting than any words.

Mario didn’t let go of his hand and it was the most normal thing in a world, lying in bed in silence, holding hands, slowly waking up.

“We could… ah, never mind.” Mario shook his head. He was lying on his side, leaning on his elbow so he could face Marco.

“What is it, honey?” Marco said, playing with his lover’s fingers. Now the headaches had ceased he started to remember all the great things that had happened before they screwed up last night. He remembered Mario’s sweet kisses and his lovely words and all the precious time they had spent together. He remembered he was in love.

“I thought about maybe we can figure out what happened last night. You know, deduce it. I can be Holmes and you can be Watson.”

“Seriously?” Marco asked in surprise and for a moment Mario was afraid Marco thought him ridiculous, but then he added: “I should be Holmes.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, I’m taller. For another: I’m older.”

Mario laughed. “You know Watson was the older one, right?”

“Elementary, Watson,” Marco answered in character, pouting his lip as if it were part of the role. They laughed and Marco kissed Mario, although he was sure Holmes had never kissed Watson (or…?). “But seriously, how do you deduce things?” Marco asked after a few seconds. He wasn’t really a brilliant consulting detective.

“Well,” Mario started slowly and his cheeks blushed. “Does your butt hurt?”

Marco started laughing again. “No, why would… oh.” He blushed and remained silent for a while when he realised the meaning of Mario’s question. “Does yours?” he added after his laughter had awkwardly died away.

The latter nodded, slowly, shyly. “Why do you think I’m not lying on my back?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you want to look at me?” Marco smiled, but it didn’t really cheer Mario up. “Hey, don’t be sad. I think you’re drawing premature conclusions.”

“Premature conclusions? This can only mean one thing.”

“How would _you_ know?”

Mario looked at Marco, but he was obviously feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t, okay. This was a stupid idea.” He sat up and started making movements to get off the bed, but Marco stopped him and forced him to look him in the eyes.

“No, it’s not. Look, Mario. Maybe this wasn’t perfect. Maybe this wasn’t exactly how we had planned it. Maybe it’s stupid that we don’t remember anything. But we were in this together, that’s what we know for sure, right?”

Mario laughed because honestly, it sounded so silly. Like some stupid teen musical.

“But I want you to know,” Marco continued, “that whatever happened last night, I am completely fine with it.”

Mario let the moment linger before he answered. “Thanks, I appreciate that. And I think I feel the same way.”

Marco leaned in for a quick kiss. “Really? Then try sit on that cute little butt of yours without complaining,” he said, his dry, cracked lips still touching Mario’s. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

The way Marco said it – like it was no big deal and at the same time it was the most romantic thing he could ever do – made something flutter on the inside and he could do nothing but grin like a fool.

“But don’t expect too much from me,” Marco warned him when he was at the door, still undressed (and Mario loved the view). “Don’t forget that my throat is sore too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, had to add some Johnlock.


	3. The third first time

Lewis’ parties stopped soon after that one and everyone started missing them. After Mario had confessed to Kevin how much he missed them, Kevin threw one himself, and even though everyone knew it could never compare, they appreciated Kevin’s attempt. The season had just started, so he promised it wouldn’t be a wild one. But whilst planning the party, he didn’t know the game would be so amazing.

It was Bremen, a nice one to kick off, certainly for Marco, who had just joined the squad and made the quick 1-0 in the eleventh minute. Mario was the one to finish off in the 81st minute, as a hero who came to save the day. Both were in a euphoric state after the game, all eyes drawn to them, and they didn’t lose it when they were cheered at back home at Kevin’s.

Soon enough the attention faded, however. It took no more than an hour for Marco (and Mario) to go from the spotlight to a dark corner where nobody noticed them, and they didn’t mind it, to be honest. The party was slowly getting lamer and they were bored.

Mario sighed, leaning his head to Marco’s shoulder. “Can we go already? I am sick of this place.”

Marco laughed, a half-full cup dangling between his thumb and index finger. “Why, you don’t like Kevin’s walls or something?”

“That’s not the problem.” The hungry look in his eyes should have said enough. “I just really want to do a few things that I can’t really do in here,” he whispered into Marco’s ear. “With you,” he added and Marco was sure his lips purposely touched his ear.

Marco looked down, felt something twitching between his legs and didn’t hesitate any longer. Looking around to check if nobody was watching he pulled Mario away into the hallway, into the toilet. Quickly, he locked the door and the next thing he knew Mario was pushing him back against the it, his hands all over his body, his lips rough on his. Thoughtlessly Marco let his hands wander down Mario’s back, fast and hot and heavy.

They weren’t drunk this time; they had learned from previous mistakes. It made their movements even steadier and better.

Marco moaned softly as Mario’s mouth moved down to his neck, gently biting and sucking. _So hot_ , a voice echoed through Marco’s head, and he automatically brought his hand down to touch himself, but Mario angrily slapped his hands away.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hissed through his teeth as he opened the button of Marco’s pants and quickly shoved his hand down the boxers underneath. The lucky blue ones, he knew.

Marco moaned again, a bit louder again and when Mario looked up he saw his eyes were closed, as if he were enjoying every motion. Mario grinned at the idea of it as he started stroking Marco inside his pants.

When Marco opened his eyes again, he looked at Mario with eyes full of love, but full of lust too. Pulling him closer with his left hand, he slipped his right hand underneath Mario’s clothes even faster than his boyfriend had just done to him. It drew some lovely sounds from his mouth, motivating him to continue.

 “We will remember this, right?” Mario whispered breathily into Marco’s ear.

“Hm-m,” Marco hummed back. “I swear we will remember… Every moment… every – oh – every second.”

Moans echoed off the bathroom tiles and gave Marco that last push that sent him over the edge. Mario lost it at the sight of Marco spilling himself over his hand, and he bit his lip bloody. And then Marco was resting his forehead against Mario’s and they were both catching their breath. As the blood rushed back to his head, so did the thoughts. Mario swallowed hard a few times before he spoke and ruined the moment.

“We did it again. We managed to not make it special again.” His eyes were filled with rage and disappointment because of what had just happened, although it should have been the best thing ever.

Marco ripped of a long piece of toilet paper and started cleaning up the mess they made. “I disagree with you,” he said as he gently wiped the tissue across Mario’s shirt and exposed belly, licking clean his own hands. “We jerked off in Kevin’s bathroom. How many people do you think have done that before? It’s quite special.”

Mario sighed, caressing Marco’s shoulders, who was now cleaning himself. “That’s not what I mean. I just wished that our first time would be really special. Long and slow and romantic and beautiful, not dirty and quick and cheap.”

“Cheap?” Marco asked, disposing the wet piece of paper.

“Well, you kno…”

“Are you saying you feel like a whore?”

Mario looked up in disgust, but didn’t say anything.

“You’re not a whore, Mario. You’re the only person I would jerk off in Kevin’s filthy toilet. Look.” He put up a serious face and he zipped up his pants again. “I don’t know if you agree with me or not, but the fact that it’s you makes it really special for me. You and me. That’s just special for me.”

Mario raised his hands in frustration. “I know, I know, and I should be the luckiest man on earth, but I’m just… I don’t feel that satisfied.”

A mischievous smirk appeared on Marco’s face. “If we go home right now, I could make you feel satisfied.”

“Marco!”

“I’m sorry.” Marco turned his eyes off and watched silently as Mario dressed himself again, with the sad look still on his face. “You know,” Marco said after a while. “I think this doesn’t count. I mean, handjobs? Come on, that’s not the real deal. We can do so much better. So I think this one doesn’t count. This one was just… I don’t know, friends who do each other a favour. But next time, Mario… oh, you won’t know what’s happening to you. It will be _that_ special.”

Mario laughed and pulled his lover in for a long, slow kiss. When they broke the kiss, Marco had that sleepy look on his face he could have after long making out sessions, that comfortable look of everything having fallen into place a moment ago, just because of a kiss. Somehow, it made Mario feel like it all wasn’t as bad as it seems. It was only Marco, after all.

“Come on,” Marco said smiling, his hand reaching for the door knob.

“About that offer you just made… about making me feel satisfied. Can I get back on that?”

Marco raised an eyebrow, turned the lock and raced out the door, pulling Mario along.


	4. The fourth first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really sorry

Mario had to admit it felt a lot better, a lot more _real_ this time around. They were casually chatting and laughing when Marco turned the key and let Mario in first, almost as if it were any other day. He had no idea where to go afterwards. Living room? Kitchen? Immediately to the bedroom? Or stay here and make love in the hallway? Fortunately Marco was there to make the decision for him, kissing him lightly on top of his head, then on his forehead and nose, before they lips met very gently.

“Mario…” Marco whispered softly, letting the word hang in the air as he tried to think of more words to say, but none came to mind. Mario could feel Marco’s soft touch, his fingers running along his arm, so lightly he barely felt it. But they were there, warm and tender, making Mario shiver.

“Come,” Marco whispered, leading his boyfriend to his room; Mario was eager to follow.

When they kissed if felt like they didn’t need anything more than this, if the kiss could just last. Just lips, just touch, clothes on, soft moans. It was enough for them. Yet they found themselves undressing each other the moment they entered Marco’s bedroom, interrupting the kiss as Mario’s shirt disappeared. He followed it with his eyes and watched it land on the floor, before Marco reunited their lips.

 “I am really turned on right now,” Marco whispered redundantly between noisy kisses and all Mario could do was look back at him with scared, hungry eyes; push against his chest, not gently at all; cover him with his entire body as soon as he was on the bed.

“Me too,” Mario said and he realised how raw his voice was, as if he hadn’t said anything in days.

They rolled over so Marco was top, taking off his own shirt so quick it ripped apart in a few places. Marco’s touches were slow, but Mario felt he was in a hurry. Despite everything he had said, Marco couldn’t wait. He wanted, he _needed_ to have Mario right there, and Mario knew it. It made him feel good and scared at the same time. To feel wanted…

Marco’s hands went down and it felt easy, as if they had done this a million times before, while they hadn’t. This was new and exciting and scary and unfamiliar, and Marco should have known. Should have maybe even slowed down once again, but instead he went on, opening Mario’s pants and taking them off, and Mario didn’t stop him.

He was thinking too much, he knew. Mario was overthinking the situation and soon he would panic, because whatever he would think about, he would find some reason to panic.

Maybe this was all just going a bit too fast for him, Mario was thinking. But then again, it shouldn’t matter, because they had discussed this and they were ready. They had already done it, even though they had been drunk. They had just jerked off in a toilet, just casually, as if it were no big deal. Why would this be so much more important?

Marco stood up and made a little show of taking off his pants and boxers and Mario sighed at the sight, because god, he loved that body despite his own messed up thoughts.

_No_ , Mario’s mind interrupted itself. It wasn’t that simple. He loved Marco’s body with his penis, but he loved Marco with his heart. But for some reason, that wasn’t enough at the moment. For some reason, his head needed to be convinced too.

Everything was passing in a rush, whispered words and disposed clothes and then Marco’s mouth was on Mario’s naked body and it didn’t feel as good as he had always imagined it would. He realised he had imagined this moment so many times, had imagined enjoying Marco’s body and discovering a brand new universe when being with him. But it didn’t feel like that at all. It felt forced and weird unnatural and he didn’t want it to be like this.

“Stop.” The word escaped his mouth before he could think about it anymore, and maybe that was just right.

Marco looked up in surprise, his face already close to Mario’s crotch. “What?” Marco asked, just to be sure if he heard him correctly.

“I said stop. It doesn’t feel good.” Mario stood up from the bed as he felt the blood rising to his face, got up his clothes and walked off to the bathroom.

Standing there in his boxers, he splashed some water to his face, but it didn’t wash away the thoughts. As the drops of water hit his skin, the thoughts hit him too. Now that he was alone, not completely naked and not being touched, he felt more at ease and he felt like he had made a mistake. What the hell was wrong about having sex with Marco? He had been longing for this very thing to happen for weeks, months maybe. Why did he back off?

Mario was sure he had screwed everything up by telling Marco to stop and walking out on him. He imagined how hurt Marco must have been feeling, just because he had been so selfish. He looked up at the mirror, at his own messed up face. He didn’t look pretty at all. His hair was messed up, but not in a nice way. His mouth was a thin line, his eyes were hollow and red; he hadn’t even noticed he had started crying. What was the big deal? It was just sex.

“Mario?” Marco’s voice came soft and anxious from behind the door. “Mario, wanna talk?”

“I don’t know,” Mario whispered in response although he was sure Marco could never hear that. Maybe that was for the best. He truly didn’t know what he wanted. Part of him wanted to be left alone and crawl into a whole and die, but another part of him wanted to be with Marco just to be together. Not touch or kiss or talk even, just be with him and appreciate his existence.

“You can tell me what’s wrong through the door, if you’d like that better.”

That’s when Mario realised he hadn’t locked the door, and yet Marco was not storming in on him. Marco respected his privacy and his need to be alone sometimes, and it made Mario appreciate him even more.

He took a few steps to get to the door, but he didn’t open it. Instead he did as Marco had told him to. “It just didn’t feel right,” he admitted after a long silence.

He put on the rest of his clothes that were still on the floor, listening to Marco’s comforting voice.

“That’s okay,” he said as if it really was, as if it was no big deal at all. “I’m actually really glad you told me to stop.”

Mario was surprised to hear this. Was Marco afraid as well? When he had all his clothes on, he opened the door to find Marco all dressed as well. That was nice. “Why?” Mario asked, keeping a safe distance.

“If not, I would have continued and you would have felt terrible about this day.”

Mario looked at him for ten full seconds, examined the way the brown in his eyes faded into green and noticed the little spots that were a bit brighter than the rest and shined when he was feeling something real. Something emotional, something sad, something beautiful, something dirty… anything, as long as the feeling was real. Marco’s eyes were shining now.

“I’m sorry,” Mario said, despite the fact Marco had just told him this was for the best.

“Don’t you dare apologise again, or you will never set foot in this apartment again.” Marco’s crooked grin told him he was kidding and even though the moment didn’t call for jokes, Mario laughed, relieved.

“Wanna play some Fifa?” Marco asked. He still didn’t lean in to touch Mario in any way, not even a friendly punch, as if he waited for him to allow him, to give him a sign.

“Yeah,” Mario said with a smile, glad that Marco let the subject go instead of interrogating him about the situation.

They got to the soft living room couch in a comfortable silence and Marco turned on the TV while Mario went to get the controllers.

“Just to make this clear,” Marco started in a more serious voice as he set up the game. “I can wait forever if you want to.”

Mario looked to the side and Marco was being sincere and serious, and the frown didn’t do anything to change the beauty of his face. “Okay,” Mario nodded and it was all okay.

They played Fifa until dusk settled over Dortmund. Then they ordered pizza and ate it on Marco’s huge bed, cuddling and laughing and chatting happily, as if nothing else mattered. And when they fell asleep in each other’s arms, Mario was pretty sure nothing else did.


	5. The fifth first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much if you stuck with me until the very end! I will bake you popcakes.
> 
> I'm sorry for making this so, well, like it is.

They hadn’t talked about it since. Hadn’t so much as said one word about what had happened, or what had almost happened that night. Marco didn’t push things and Mario let it rest, knowing that one day their time would come.

That didn’t mean they grew distant. In fact, quite the opposite was the case; they had both never been this touchy before. Marco couldn’t keep his hands off of Mario wherever they were. Mostly at home, during long cuddling sessions on Marco’s couch or stolen touches during lunch at Mario’s. Even their teammates became suspicious during training sessions.

It wasn’t a particularly beautiful, sunny, or different day at all, when things changed. Marco was having dinner at Mario’s. His mom had made chicken in tomato sauce and cheese, which wasn’t special either; she made it all the time. They were talking about some new game Felix had bought, when Mario kicked his lover under the table. He didn’t move a single inch in surprise, but Mario could see a slight change in his face expression. He looked down from the corner of his eye at Mario’s wicked grin, as he felt the latter curl his feet around Marco’s. They both couldn’t contain a while smile and when Jürgen asked them what was wrong, they simultaneously answered “nothing” without untangling their legs.

They continued their actions without changing anything. Mario was still in a heated discussion with Felix and Marco still licked his lips after every bite. Marco played the perfect son-in-law when complimenting Mrs. Götze on the delicious meal, and offering to clean up the table, but she dismissed them.

It was a warm night for early October and they took full advantage of it by cuddling up in the backyard after dinner. Soon enough it would be cold and white with snow, and Mario wanted to savor every single moment of sunlight while he could. Felix was upstairs doing his homework and his parents were in the kitchen doing the dishes together (which was a romantically domestic thing, according to Marco; his comment made Mario laugh) as they sat on the couch underneath a warm fleece blanket.

“Your mother is an excellent cook,” Marco said, nuzzling Mario’s hair.

“Stop it,” Mario giggled. “Maybe flattering works with her, but not with me.” He stroked his thumb over Marco’s knee under the blanket, feeling the weight of his lover’s arm around his shoulder, the warmth of breath against his ear, his other hand holding Mario’s.

“I just really like food,” Marco whispered in a way of an apology and the pout on his face matching his voice made Mario laugh.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and watch the sun sink a few inches, holding each other and staring at the sunset, without doing much more. No words, no kisses. Just the sound of their breath and birds leaving for the south.

Mario turned his head to look Marco in the eyes before he spoke. “I love you.”

Marco didn’t even seem shocked to hear it. He just looked back contently, smiling his trademark smile, eyes glowing with luck. “And I love you, Mario Götze.”

Marco using his full name was a big deal, he felt. The weight of the little line hung in the air for a few moments as they looked at each other and read the honesty from their eyes.

“I’m ready,” Mario nodded and he smiled. And yes, the idea of doing it with Marco made him nervous, but not in a sick way, not the scared kind of nervous he used to feel. It was an excited nervousness that only made everything better.

“Are you sure?” Marco asked, but the excitement in his eyes made it unable for Mario to say no, had he wanted to.

“I have never been more sure in my life.”

Marco bit his lip, looking a bit hesitant before he let himself smile. Then he leaned in and Mario sealed his promise with a sweet kiss.

 

Two days later they finally got their precious alone-time at Marco’s apartment. After an early training session Marco had winked to Mario saying: “Three thirty, my place.”

“I’ll be there,” Mario responded with an intense look in his eyes.

“You better be.”

They had both gone separate ways to their own homes to get ready. Mario took a shower, picked his clothes, had a sandwich and, just to kill the time, took another shower. It made his skin dry, but he had enough lotion.

Marco, on the other hand, was busy tidying his room, cleaning the sheets, buying some food in case they got hungry, pondering how romantic it should be. Should he light candles? Dim the lights? Make him a cake? Wear a suit? Buy him roses? And what about protection? He had some condoms, but were they good enough? Would they need anything else? Should they watch a movie first, to shake the nerves off?

No, he realised it was all stupid. He was planning too much; he just had to be himself and let things happen and see what would come. When he had decided not to care about all these details, he could not wait for three thirty to finally come.

But then three thirty came and went without anything special happening. Marco swore he didn’t panic, told himself Mario could be a little late. But then it was three fifty and four twenty and he still wasn’t there. He didn’t even reply to his messages, which was very unlike Mario. When Marco decided to call him, his phone went to voicemail immediately, so he dialed his home phone number instead and got his mother.

“Where’s Mario?” he asked without taking the time to properly greet her or play the perfect son-in-law, like he usually did.

“He’s in his room. Would you like me to call him?”

Marco could feel his face grow red with anger. _That bastard._ “No, it’s okay. Thank you. Have a nice day.” He hung up and let the phone slip from his hand. He had promised to be there. What had made Mario change his mind? Had he said something wrong?

Marco thought about the rush he had been in all day, just thinking of being with Mario that afternoon. It had been so beautiful, the prospect of having his beautiful precious body to himself, not just in a sexual way, but just to be with him, alone for an infinite amount of time. It had been such a beautiful thought. And now it all seemed to slip away from him.

He found himself curling up into a little ball of sadness on the couch, dying a little inside with each passing minute. Somewhere he still believed that Mario would come if only he waited long enough, but the sky started to grow dark outside and every passing minute became a disappointment.

It was five o’clock when he finally stood up to wash his face, because his eyes felt like they were on fire. The cold water felt good on them, calming the skin. The face in the mirror was a mess, even when he tried to smile. Then someone knocked on the door and his heart skipped a beat.

“It can’t be…” Marco mumbled to himself, but when he opened the door, he saw his boyfriend, dressed up and his hair done and just more beautiful than ever altogether. He held a box of chocolates in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Mario said. “I wanted to bring you flowers, but I figured this would be better because you said you love food, and you always forget to water your plants, and I didn’t want to arrive this late, I _swear_ but I just sat at home not knowing what to do and what to wear and what not and I just…”

Marco had forgotten all about his anger, all about _anything_ with one look in Mario’s eyes. He interrupted his lover by pressing a firm kiss on his lips, sucking in breath through his nose.

“Marco, I’m really sorry,” Mario started again, but Marco interrupted him.

“Sh, it’s okay,” he said quickly, before bringing their lips back together and pulling Mario inside. His back hit the closed door and he groaned. Marco’s mouth was soon on his neck, his tongue drawing tiny circles on the sensitive skin under his ear, making him forget the pain. Thoughtlessly, he dropped the box of chocolates.

Words were still racing through Mario’s but they didn’t make sense anymore. His body responded to the touches automatically, one hand in Marco’s disheveled hair and the other running down his back. There was nothing but the loud sound of things happening, of life being lived. It was great.

Marco cupped his face and they were kissing again, passionate and desperate, as if they hadn’t seen each other for years instead of a few hours. Mario felt so certain when he let his hands wander down the front of Marco’s body, settling on his hips, pulling up his shirt a few inches. He could feel goose bumps arise under his touch and it turned him on, and he couldn’t help smiling against Marco’s closed lips.

“Come on,” Marco said when he broke the kiss and he cocked his head toward the bedroom. He took Mario’s hand and pulled him along, pushing him on the bed, not too gently. Mario bounced of the bed a little, but he sat up quickly, eagerly tugging at Marco’s shirt. It needed to be off. _Now._

Marco helped him by taking it off in one quick movement. “First you tell me to wait forever and now you can’t even wait one more minute?” he joked, sitting down on his lover’s lap.

“Just shut it already.” Mario pulled Marco down by the necklace that had his personal information on it. He bit up the blonde’s neck and sucked in his earlobe, whispering: “I don’t want to hear you talk rubbish like that. I want to hear you make some other noises… moan my name…”

He sucked on a sensitive spot and counted, one, two three, and exactly in time Marco sighed: “Mario…”

It turned Mario on, to have him under control, to be taking the lead, even when he wasn’t on top. But he didn’t mind that too, so wrapped his legs around Marco’s back and turned them around.

He sat straight up, shaking away the strands of hair that had escaped from his perfect hairdo. Marco looked at him, sensually running his fingers over his legs, hips, lifting his shirt inch by painfully slow inch. It took Mario way too long, so he assisted him by taking it off at once.

For a few seconds Marco could do nothing but stare up at Mario’s beautiful body, the way his muscles curved in all the right places, or how his nipples hardened at every simple touch. His beautiful tan, the small little hairs on his arms, his perfect abs… and all of this belonged to him now, for this evening at least. His hands discovered all the little paths on his upper body, that he had seen so much and touched so much, but never quite in this way. The way he sat there, smiling, enjoying Marco’s touch, his skin warm under his fingers… it was so incredible Marco swore he could have cried. Maybe he even did.

“You are beautiful,” he said slowly, stressing every word.

The shy smile that spread across his face didn’t take away any of his beauty; if anything, it only made him prettier. His face showed his want to make some remark, but instead he just whispered: “Thank you.” He leant down as Marco push himself up and their lips met in the middle and they collided awkwardly, but resolved it with a few whispers and soon they were involved in a heated kiss again.

 “What made you change your mind?” Marco had to ask, involuntarily. He could have kissed on forever, but the question was burning in the back of his mind. He needed to know why Mario kept changing from indecisive to certain, from scared to horny.

Mario looked at him in silence for a few seconds, collecting his thoughts and translating them into words, sentences. “I was in my room, not knowing what to do, as I told you,” he started. “I was confused and scared and… I don’t know. Just nervous as hell I guess. Because I was so anxious to make tonight perfect because it would be our ‘first time’. But then I found the two empty glasses from when my parents were supposed to go to some opera… do you remember that night?”

Marco snorted. “Remember it? As if I could forget. It was great,” he added, just to make sure Mario didn’t misinterpret his point.

“Good,” Mario smiled. “So I thought about how that was supposed to be our first time, which I then thought was just the right moment. We both thought so, right? Right. And then I thought about Lewis’ last summer party, which I don’t really remember to be honest. But I think it was fine back then. And then I thought about Kevin’s toilet and what happened afterwards and how good you just are to me. You’re so fucking good. As a person I mean, you’re a good person.” Mario blushed a little and Marco took his hand, pinched a little, encouraging him to continue. “And I realised that all those moments were just fine, could have been perfect even, if I hadn’t constantly been worrying about the consequences. All this time I was only afraid of the regret that might maybe follow afterwards. I wasn’t doing the things I did, or enjoying the things I did because I was afraid of something that may never come, while I could have been enjoying something that was certainly there at that moment. But fear shouldn’t drive us to the things we do, right? It should be love.”

Mario’s speech had been so soft and cheesy and gay, that it had gotten Marco all out of the mood again, but he had to admit he kind of liked soft and cheesy and gay; or at the very least, he liked it when Mario was soft and cheesy and gay. And although he couldn’t always follow Mario’s crazy cute messed up logic, he understood exactly what he meant when he said “It should be love.”

Marco sat up, Mario still on his lap, so he could look at him and tell him things without talking and know they would still be together when Mario would leave him; he would never keep his hands off of him when he would be around, showing him how much he cared. He realised that he had been wishing for that kind of friendship for such a long time, while it had been there all along, better and brighter and more real.

Marco would never care to admit it, but he was crying. _Pure bliss_. “I love you.” He saw Mario open his mouth, but before he could mirror his words, he said: “I love you so fucking much, Mario. You deserve everything. Anything. Just… just don’t ever leave me again. I love you.”

He hugged him tight, resting his head against Mario’s chest, although it was still uncomfortable with the latter sitting on his lap.

“I love you too, Marco,” Mario answered, running his hands through Marco’s hair, and by the sound of his voice Marco could tell Mario was smiling.

When Marco loosened his grip, Mario ducked in for a deep kiss, while wiping the tears off Marco’s face. Gently, he pushed Marco back, giving them just enough distance to look at him, although it was obvious Marco could barely tolerate any distance.

“But the fact that we get emotional doesn’t mean we can just cuddle up and let the evening pass, so if you think I’m just going to leave it at that you are fucking delusional because I’m ready to fuck the fuck out of you,” Mario commented sharply, but Marco could see his eyes growing wet. He decided not to comment on it, however, and couldn’t help grinning.

“Fuck the fuck out of me?” Marco laughed, but he could feel himself harden again. Mario taking the lead and faking his anger was rather hot. Mario was hot.

“Yes,” Mario replied sassily, but he was blushing too.

“Go ahead.” Marco folded his arms underneath his head and thrust his hips up a little, as too encourage Mario. The latter then bit his lip, uncertain of what to do, and Marco couldn’t stand the view of Mario being so hesitant, so he pulled him down and their mouths met once again in a bloody messy kiss, but it was good. And even when they stumbled while undressing, and when Mario had trouble opening the condom package and Marco didn’t get his satisfaction at first, it was good. And even when they accidentally fell asleep after thirty minutes, just to wake up in a comfortable silence and start all over again, it was good. It was special and perfect and everything their first time was supposed to be like. Even if it was their fifth first time.

But it was never sex and always love, just like it had been love every single time they were together. When eventually it was past midnight and they were sweaty but too tired to shower, they cuddled up in Marco’s big bed, the blonde hugging Mario from behind. It was dark and quiet in the room and Marco was almost asleep when Mario started talking again, softly whispering words for only Marco to hear.

“You know, my parents aren’t home tomorrow night. We could do this again?”

Marco playfully kicked him under the blankets, but he smiled against the crook of his neck. “I wouldn’t mind it.”


End file.
